


Out of Fantasy

by halfsweet



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, M/M, Masturbation, Pet Names, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:11:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15351900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfsweet/pseuds/halfsweet
Summary: It’s not like— it’s not like it’s a kink, as Gerard would oh-so-eloquently put it. He just likes the view. When Brendon would stretch his arms up above his head, he can see the hard muscles ripple and taut under the skin.Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have those arms pin him down.





	Out of Fantasy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [I_Dream_In_Electric_Blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Dream_In_Electric_Blue/gifts).



> inspired by the pictures of brendon in the bull's jersey! those pictures are just begging to be written.
> 
> it's almost midnight here and i've been sleep deprived lately, so there's bound to be some mistakes. but still. enjoy!

Let’s get one thing straight. It’s not like it was intentional.

Even though the stadium is off-limits when the team is practising, the whole gang still goes anyway. Gerard claims that they’re only there for _moral support_ for their friends, but everyone knows he and Frank are only there to fuck in one of the secluded areas that Gerard, yet again, _claims_ to be soundproof. Nobody knows if it’s true, or even if such a thing exists, but they’ve never heard their animalistic noises so far, so it must be true.

He only follows because he likes the air-conditioner in the stadium, aside from the place having not many people. He often finds himself doing his assignments with the team’s shouts and the sound of dribbling basketballs and squeaking shoes playing in the background. They make him feel calm, and he can just lose himself in his world.

The coach has gotten so accustomed to them that he would sigh at a glance of them and wave them off with a, _“just don’t make a lot of noises, especially you two.”_

He kind of feels sorry for the coach; he’s pretty sure the coach has caught Frank and Gerard fucking five times, at least.

He sits down on the stands, bag placed on the floor as Gerard takes a seat beside him, Frank next to Gerard. Today’s weather has been strangely warm and hot, and even with the air-conditioner in the stadium, sweat sticks to the back of his neck.

Frank and Gerard are chatting in hushed voices beside him, pointing to the basketball players who are all in the middle of a warm-up session at the centre of the court. The guys are all in their uniform, red shorts and equally red tops with white accents.

Even from afar and with his terrible vision, the player who stands out the most is Dallon— who is the tallest out of everyone. The second is Pete, the shortest out of everyone on the team. The rest of the members are a blur in his eyes, but one member in particular, sticks out like sore a thumb. His scent, especially.

He knows the team consists of a bunch of alphas and mainly betas, and a few omegas as well, but he can pick a certain alpha’s scent with just a small whiff of the air. Despite the stank and the sweat and the musky scent of the alphas and the fruity scent of the omegas, he can pick up Brendon’s like it’s a second nature to him.

And the sleeveless tops are a blessing to him and his eyes, but he would never tell that to anyone, except maybe Gerard. It’s not like— it’s not like it’s a _kink,_ as Gerard would oh-so-eloquently put it. He just likes the view. When Brendon would stretch his arms up above his head, he can see the hard muscles ripple and taut under the skin.

Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have those arms pin him down.

He swallows and forces himself to avert his gaze to anywhere that’s not on Brendon. He wipes the sweat on his forehead as his chest starts to feel tight. Is it getting hot in here? Is the air-conditioner broken?

The coach still has yet to come by the time the team has finished warming up, so everyone is doing their own thing. Some are dribbling, some are doing laps around the court, some are doing free-throwing.

But Brendon is doing push-ups on the floor.

His eyes are fixed on Brendon—and his arms—and he imagines himself being under Brendon, grinding up against him, sprawling and a mess as he lets Brendon do everything he wants to him.

Maybe he’ll be on his back, flat. Or maybe Brendon prefers him on his stomach, or even on his hands and knees. Or perhaps even with his face down in the pillow, ass up. Either way, he’d gladly do them all.

He snaps out of his thoughts when his boxers start to feel wet. _Shit._ Oh God, this can’t be happening right now.

Even when the coach has come and practice is over, he just can’t keep his eyes off of Brendon. And it seems that the more he pays attention to Brendon, the more he fantasizes about him, and the wetter he gets.

And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Gerard and Frank beside him.

“Join us for lunch today?” Gerard asks, though his voice is teasing.

“No, uh, you go ahead. I need to, um—” he flushes, looking down at his shoes when a smirk grows on Gerard’s face. He needs to change his pants before anyone realizes what happened.

“Right. Do what you need to do, darling.” Gerard pats him on the shoulder as he walks away with Frank. “We’ll see you later.”

It’s official. He needs to change his pants before he steps his foot out of the building. He doesn’t need anyone pointing out that there’s a wet spot at the back of his pants. Good thing he and Pete are roughly the same size.

It takes a while until everyone begins to file out of the stadium, Pete being one of the last, and he grabs Pete by the arm and pulls him aside. Pete looks at him, startled at first, then breaks out into a wide grin. “Trick! I thought you’d already left with—”

“I need your pants.” He blurts out, cutting pete mid-sentence. At Pete’s befuddled expression, he clarifies himself and tries to get his sentence right this time. “You keep extra pants in your locker, right? Can I borrow it? I’ll wash it, I promise.”

Pete quirks an eyebrow, forehead creasing that implies that he’s worried. “Why would— _oh._ Oh, yeah, sure. Definitely. Just take it, don’t worry.”

He almost wants to bury himself deep under the stadium’s floors when Pete sniffs the air. There’s no doubt Pete knows what happened. Though he’s embarrassed that Pete finds out, but at least he doesn’t have to say it out loud.

“You can use our showers if you want to.” Pete jerks his chin to the direction of their locker room. “I was the last one there, so it’s empty.”

He looks at Pete, grateful. “Thanks. I promise I’ll—”

“Just go.” Pete smiles and places a hand on his back, pushing him in front. “Take care of yourself, alright? I’ll just tell them you’re sick.”

Really. Pete is such a blessing in disguise. He doesn’t know what he’d do without his friend by his side. He wraps his arms around Pete in a quick hug before running to the locker room.

Once inside, he makes his way to Pete’s locker, unlocking it with the combination that he knows by heart. 0427.

_“What’s a better combination number other than my best friend’s birthday?”_

Just as the locker opens, slick has already run down his legs. Without wasting another second, he takes off his pants and his boxers, tossing them aside as he rests his elbow on the locker frame, one hand already going between his legs and to his hole, where it’s already wet and dripping.

Slowly and carefully, he pushes his finger inside, whimpering at the feeling of ring of muscles stretching around it. He twists his finger around, now wet and covered with his own slick. It’s not the first time he’s done this, but it’s always difficult for him to find the spot that makes him see stars and fireworks behind his eyelids. He only managed to find it once or twice, but the desire to relief himself was much more important than trying to find it again, so he never spent much time on it.

But he can imagine it. He can almost feel it in his head.

Brendon’s fingers are long and strong, bulging veins prominent against his skin whenever he flexes his hands. He can imagine two of them deep inside him, crooking around, scissoring him, stretching him, instantly finding his spot with ease. Brendon would press his fingers down— the more pressure he’s applying, the louder his moan gets.

And maybe— maybe Brendon would grip both his wrists with just one hand, specifically the tattooed one. Brendon would pin him down, so hard and tight that he can’t even move his hands, and Brendon would look down at him, dark eyes glinting and smirking.

“Brendon.” He moans, voice breaking as he inserts another finger inside him.

And Brendon would put another finger inside so he has three inside him, stretching him wide. He would go fast, in and out and the wet sound of his slick would echo in the room. It’s filthy and hot and Brendon would collect all his slick before pushing them back inside him.

And he would leak so, _so_ much that it would just ooze out and down below, making a small puddle. If Brendon has him on his hands and knees, if he looks under him, maybe he can see his own slick steadily drip between his legs.

He pushes in another digit, taking a sharp intake of breath when his walls start to stretch to accommodate all three fingers inside him. “B- Brendon…”

If three fingers are already stretching him this much, what would Brendon’s dick inside him feel like? Would he be able to take it all the way in, or would he have to resort with just Brendon inside him halfway?

And Brendon’s got a good sense of rhythm, especially since he can play a few instruments himself. He’s seen the way Brendon plays piano and guitar. He’s seen those fingers in action. He knows what those fingers can do.

And Brendon never strays from the melody he’s playing. Never misses a beat. It doesn’t matter if it’s a slow tempo or a fast tempo, Brendon could time everything down to milliseconds. And maybe, maybe when Brendon’s fucking him, he would take it slow in the beginning and gradually speeds up until it matches the beat of their hearts combined.

The sound of skin slapping skin, the wet sound of slick, and the sounds of their breathing and moaning and whimpering and grunting blending together like a harmony, they would make the best music ever. And when everything becomes faster and higher, climbing up and up and up until they reach the _very_ edge, then—

“What are you doing?”

His eyes snap open at the deep voice, and he quickly pulls his fingers out and pants up, blood pounding in his ears as he looks up at the person he’s been fantasizing. “W- what are you doing here?”

Brendon arches an eyebrow, arms crossed against his chest. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“I asked you first.”

“Just finished getting dressed.” Brendon states, his face neutral and void of any expression, which makes him even more nervous.

“I—” He licks his lips, eyes downcast in submission, his omega instincts taking over when the alpha towers over him. “I was just leaving. Bye.”

He takes a step to the side to leave, but Brendon grabs him by the arm before he can get far. “Whoa, there. Wait a second.”

“What?” His breathing starts to get faster and laboured when he feels Brendon’s solid body pressed against his back.

“Why,” Brendon murmurs, blowing cool air near his ear and making him shiver, “was your hand in your pants?”

“Because.” He squeaks out when Brendon’s hand is on his hips, holding him. “B- because it’s not illegal to have my hand in my pants?”

“But you were moaning my name.”

His face turns scarlet at the comment. Brendon heard? Oh god, Brendon _heard._ “I, uh, have to go. I’m running late.”

But Brendon has already wrapped an arm around him, preventing him to go anywhere. Brendon hooks his chin on his shoulder and lets out a low hum as his hand goes behind him, tracing at the obvious wet spot on his pants. “Did you get wet because of me?”

He squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on keeping his breathing steady. If he doesn’t show Brendon that he’s affected, then maybe Brendon would leave him alone.

“Did you enjoy the view during practice?” Brendon holds his hips down against him, and he might or might not have grind back. “Did all those for you. Knew you were watching me the entire time. All this time.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” He breathes out, aware that all his senses are being overwhelmed by brendon. Brendon’s everywhere on him, above him, around him. But not _inside_ him. His hole quivers at the thought, causing more slick to come out. “I was watching Dallon.”

“Yeah?” Brendon hums, nuzzling along his neckline. “Why were you moaning my name, then?”

“You’re not the only Brendon in the world.”

“Only Brendon you know.” Then, Brendon stills his hand. “But if you want me to stop, I’ll stop.”

He doesn’t want Brendon to stop, though.

“I can just smell you.” Brendon noses behind his ear before moving down to his neck, where his gland is situated, and inhales deep. “Sweet like vanilla, with a hint of apple.”

Brendon licks at his neck before sinking his teeth into the skin, scraping and not enough to leave  a mark. “I wonder if you taste the same.”

More slick comes out, seeping down his thighs, and when Brendon smiles against his neck, he knows Brendon knows. The wet spot on his pants is probably drenched by now if it hasn’t already. “Brendon, come on. Just do it.”

“Beg.” He can’t help but cries out when Brendon presses his fingers directly on his hole through his pants. “or I’m not giving you anything.”

“I know you want me.” He fights back, even with his shaky voice. He refuses to let Brendon has the upper hand. “I always see you watching me in class. I know how much you hate it when some alpha’s scent is on me.”

“Cute.” Brendon’s deep chuckle sends spark down his spine and into his groin. “But as much as I want you, I want to hear you beg first.”

Paying no heed to Brendon’s words, he instead grinds against Brendon’s fingers. Even though his pants and boxers are in the way, but at least there’s _something_. If Brendon doesn’t want to do it, then he’ll do it himself.

“Don’t be a bad kitten.”

He lets out a squeak which turns into a moan when there’s a slap on his ass. He bites into his lips. _Damn_ if that isn’t the hottest thing ever.

Brendon pushes him against the locker and slides his leg between his knees, keeping his legs apart. The twinkle in Brendon’s eyes and the smirk on his face stirs up the heat inside him. “You wanna be good for me, Kitten?”

His face warms up at the pet name Brendon calls him. He’s rarely the one for pet names. In his previous relationships, which were all secrets from Pete because all his exes would be dead if Pete ever found out, nearly all of then called him pet names with a tone that sounded just a tad too condescending.

Like, he’s an omega, sure, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to treat him in a degrading manner.

But with Brendon, though, he loves it when Brendon does it. His tone doesn’t sound like he’s mocking him. In fact, it sounds as if—

As if Brendon’s praising him.

Perhaps being constantly pampered by Pete has made him a little spoiled for compliments.

He gasps when Brendon grasps his chin, forcing him to look up at him. “You’re not thinking of someone else while you’re here with me, are you?”

Tongue tied, he shakes his head. “N- no.”

“Good.” Brendon smiles and leans in, his lips pressed against the skin on his neck and setting his nerves off like fireworks on new years. “Because you were right. I would really, really hate it if another alpha has your attention.”

When Brendon presses his thumb against his hole, he lets out a shaky moan and arches his back as desperate pleas flow from his parted lips. “Brendon, please— please, _oh god,_ please touch me!”

“How can I say no to that?” As Brendon chuckles, his hands move to push his pants and boxers down, and he lets them pool at his ankles, desperate for Brendon’s fingers.

If he’s lucky, he might just get more than that.

His eyes squeeze shut. All those pining and fantasizing days will finally, _finally_ come to an end. He doesn’t have to wonder anymore how it feels to have Brendon touching him, being inside him. Kissing him.

The second Brendon pushes a finger inside, he mewls out, “kiss me.”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Their lips meet in a crash, teeth clanging with each other, and he’s pretty sure Brendon accidentally bites his lip, but he forgets about it as he throws his arms around Brendon’s neck, one hand tangled in Brendon’s damp hair.

He moans when Brendon’s tongue brushes against his, licking at every crevice of his mouth and not missing a single spot. His lungs begins to constrict at the lack of air, and he pulls his head back just in time for Brendon to tug at his lips with his teeth, the wet sound of _pop_ echoing as Brendon lets go.

“You’re absolutely loving this, aren’t you?” Brendon ducks to lick a long stripe on his neck, which makes him whimper. The number of finger inside him becomes two, and he clutches at Brendon’s shoulders to keep his legs steady, as if they weren’t already turning into jelly. He makes a surprised gasp when Brendon grabs both of his hands and pins them above his head against the locker, making a rattling sound.

Oh God. It’s _exactly_ how he dreams it to be.

“Brendon, please—” he gasps just as Brendon inserts another finger inside him, stretching him more than he ever could if he used his own fingers. And it feels _so_ good that he can see heaven when Brendon manages to find the one spot that he can’t seem to find most of the time. He lets out a high-pitched moan, head tossed to the side and knees twitching when Brendon keeps stroking at the spot. “—fuck me. Now. I need you.”

“I’d love to, Kitten.” Brendon laughs above him, breathless before nipping at his gland, but not biting into it. “But I don’t have any condoms on me right now, so let’s save that for our third date, okay?”

He lets out a protesting whine, hands twitching involuntarily against Brendon’s that’s pinning them down. “Now. Brendon, now. please.”

“Third date, I promise. I’ll take you out on dates, and on our third one, I’ll fuck you however you like.” He purrs, tracing his ear with his lips before pressing a kiss at the spot behind his ear— one that would make him instantly collapse to the floor if it weren’t for Brendon’s hand holding him up. “Do you want to cum, Kitten?”

He nods, too out of his mind to give a verbal answer. It’s as if the more Brendon touches him right _there,_ the closer he is to his climax. He can feel it coming— his stomach is coiled tight, his untouched dick drooling with pre-cum just as much as his hole leaking slick.

“Beg.”

“Please.” He whispers, voice broken with the sheer pleasure that Brendon is giving him.

“Louder.”

He clenches around Brendon’s fingers, knowing for sure Brendon’s hand must’ve been drenched by now. “Please.”

“No one else is in this building besides us, Kitten. say it as loud as you can.”

“Please!” He cries out, thrusting his hips up for some friction, but is only met with air.

“Please what?”

He thumps his head against the locker, biting back a desperate and frustrated sob. “Please let me cum!”

Brendon smiles, kissing him before breaking apart to murmur against his lips, “Go ahead, Kitten.”

At Brendon’s approval, he cums with a long, drawled out moan, white ribbons shooting all over his shirt, even hitting Brendon’s shirt as well. Bursts of colours and patterns explode behind his eyelids, and it’s _nothing_ compared to all the times he’d cum before.

God, if this is what Brendon can do with just his fingers, he wonders how it would be if Brendon fucks him.

When he comes back down from his high, the sight that greets him might have just made him hard again. Brendon’s licking his fingers, tongue going from the web all the way to the tip, getting all the slick on every surface. His lips part; what else can Brendon do with his tongue?

He shakes his head to get rid of the thought. He’s too spent out to cum for the second time. “Do you want me to…?”

Brendon drops his hand and smiles at him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to.”

“No, really. I don’t mind.” Figuring that since Brendon’s already seen his lower half naked, he steps out of his pants and boxers, and reaches for Pete’s spare ones before putting them on. Then, he changes his shirt into one of Pete’s. “You got me off, so it’s only fair that I return the favour.”

“Well, if you want to return the favour—” the corner of Brendon’s lips quirk up, but the nervousness in his eyes is impossible to miss, “—maybe we can go on that first date?”

He smiles. “Yeah, we can.”

-

The next day, they join their friends at the cafeteria, who are all in the middle of eating lunch. He takes a seat next to Gerard, and Brendon beside him. He looks up to thank Pete again for lending him his clothes, but when he sees the look on Pete’s face, he frowns in confusion.

Pete, who is looking like a volcano that is about to erupt any second, is glaring daggers at Brendon.

Pete points to Brendon, almost accusingly. “I can’t believe you _bullied_ Patrick!”

His jaw drops in surprise, so does everyone, and he glances at Brendon, who seems to have no idea what Pete is talking about either. He shakes his head. “What are you talking about, Pete? He never bullied me.”

But his words fall onto deaf ears when Pete continues to glare at Brendon. “Why didn’t you let Patrick follow you yesterday?”

Did Pete smoke with Joe again? “What?”

Pete turns to him, his glare diminishing into a concerned look. “I heard you screaming at him.”

Honestly. Pete should _really_ stop smoking with Joe. He exchanges a glance with Brendon, who is furrowing his eyebrows, and turns back to Pete. “But I didn’t…?”

“You did. In the locker room. I was trying to see how you were doing.” Pete frowns. “But you were like, _‘Brendon, please let me come!’”_

The whole table chokes on their food and drink, coughing violently as a result of it. Frank’s got the worst of it as he’s drinking soda when it happens, but he’s the first to recover from it as he doubles over in laughter. “Holy shit!”

His face turns scarlet when everyone’s eyes are on him. Oh God, please let this be a nightmare. This can’t be happening.

Pete continues to sneer at Brendon. “Why did you ask him to beg, you dick? Why couldn’t you just let him follow you? What did he _ever_ do to you?”

“Oh, Pete, darling.” Gerard snickers as he slings an arm around Pete’s tense shoulders. “You’re so stupid it’s almost cute.”

“What?” Pete shrugs Gerard’s arm off his shoulders, but Gerard refuses to budge.

He already knows the smile on Gerard’s face means nothing good. “If someone’s begging for an orgasm, how would they ask the person nicely?”

Pete looks affronted. “No sex talk in front of Patrick and food!”

Frank, who has regained _some_ bit of composure from earlier, snickers. “Can I tell him? Please let me tell him.”

“No!” He and Brendon shout out in unison. If Pete finds out, Brendon is going to be _dead._

“Tell me what?” Pete snaps.

Franks clears his throat and sits up straight, taking a deep breath. Then, he makes the most obscene face imaginable before moaning out loud. _“Oh, Brendon! Please let me cum!”_

“Can you stop fooling around?” Pete throws a crumples napkin in Frank’s direction, then falls quiet. “Wait…”

Pete jumps out from his seat and grabs Brendon by the collar, fire burning in his eyes. “You had sex with my little Patrick?!”

“No, he didn’t!” He stands up, coming to Brendon’s defense. Technically, they didn’t have sex. Brendon just fingered him. “Pete, we didn’t do it!”

“Oh, thank heavens.” Pete lets out a relieved sigh as he drops Brendon, who sighs in relief as well. “You’re too young to be having sex. You should wait until marriage, okay?”

He puts on the one mask that he always uses in front of Pete. If Pete sees him as an innocent kid, then he will for sure act the part. There’s a reason why he always gets the lead in theatre class.

“Of course!” He widens his eyes and beams, hands tucked between his legs. “Anything you say, Pete. You know the best for me.”

Pete coos at him, and he soaks up at the affection. Okay, so maybe he’s spoiled a _lot_ by Pete, but who cares. He sticks his tongue out at Frank, who is rolling his eyes and pretending to gag.

“Even if you two didn’t have sex, I still don’t like you raising your voice at Patrick.” Pete shoves his finger in Brendon’s chest. “Apologize to him right now.”

Brendon looks at him, amusement dancing across his features. “Sorry, Patrick.”

He smiles, hand reaching for Brendon’s under the table and linking their fingers together. “All’s forgiven.”

“Okay, now _that’s_ better.” Pete returns to his seat and rubs his hands together. “Let’s all promise to never talk about sex again, okay? Okay.”

As Pete changes the subject of the conversation, Brendon leans in, whispering, “second date tonight? It’s bowling night, so we can get a 50 percent discount.”

His smile widens. “I’d like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> so i have another fic that i've been writing for the past couple of months, and i hope i can get it out before this month ends. it's going to be something :)


End file.
